Holy fucking shit. It's the fucking TWENTIETH? Of January? Of TWO THOUSAND AND TWO?? How the HELL did that happen? Jesus.

I mean, not like I look at the date every fucking day or anything given that I write these things in my text editor and name the files by date. But still. Fuck.

Persons older than myself tell me that time moves more quickly when one gets older. If time gets any fucking faster than it has been for me in the past couple of years I'm gonna turn sixty before I turn forty. Seriously. This is not fucking cool.

Moving on.

I have quite gotten over being sick. The nice thing about being reasonably susceptible to random illnesses (at least for me) is that I get over them in record time. This cold thing that Boy has had for well over a week now, and which is still generating really remarkable quantities of snot in him I got through in a little over a day. Rah my immune system.

In other news. Turtleguy who I really oughtn't link to because he's like the Cher of diaryland after all, fucking everybody is practically wearing I -heart- Turtleguy t-shirts, and migrainegirl who is also becoming a bit of a celebrity her ownself but I don't mind linking because I DO -heart- migrainegirl, combined to give me a train of thought or two.

Which -- get this -- have nothing to do with work.

Regardless of the fact that I spent most of my day today generating a half-proposal half-Inventory Control Supply Chain Management Enterprise Resource Planning Fulfillment E-Commerce Customer Relationship Management Primer which is not nearly done yet but still. And please don't make me say that twice.

So. Turtleguy seems to actually believe research which is of course done either by the so objective editors at Cosmo OR the men in white coats which claims that women don't have visual sexual fantasies.

Feel free to fill my guestbook up with claims to the contrary if you feel it's necessary, but I personally think this is a big FAT lie. I'm with him -- how the hell *else* would you fantasize?? I mean, okay, fine, sensation and all. And even, maybe, relationships. But nevertheless, there must be some kind of physical (ie visual) component.

Actually that makes me think. I wonder what blind people's fantasies are like. That must be interesting.

Now. I'm not going to go into any detail here, thank you (and apologies to google, who last I checked was REALLY into the dog-sex combo thing, ew). But all of my sexual fantasies have been very much visual. And, comparitively speaking, I'm not overly visual. Well. That's not true. I am. But I'm no more visual than I am tactile, or aural.

However, and this is the weird part, and the part that I noted in TG's guestbook, nobody in my fantasies ever has any face.

Let me finish here. It actually gets a little stranger.

There is some research I DO believe. Says most women tend to fantasize about specific individual persons. I can believe that. Most of the women I have spoken to about it do. Be it Fabio or the guy next door, women apparently focus on a certain person to fantasize about, as contrasted to males, who would seem to be visualizing some sort of generic female person, or model-type.

Now, don't get me started on female-to-one, male-to-many supposed biological imperative. There is also a multitude of research to prove this untrue. That's not what I mean. Far from it.

At any rate. Maybe someday I will get into the incongruousness (with my actual sexual life, I mean) of my sexual fantasies. But what I'm talking about now is facelessness. Nobody, neither men nor women (yes, both are involved) in my fantasies are specific people. Ever. Since I was...old enough to fantasize.

Where this gets weirder is that the same is true of my dreams. That's what MG reminded me of.

I can't even begin to approach thinking about possibly writing out dreams here. They're very, very long and highly complex. Sometimes I try to tell Boy about them. After about twenty or thirty minutes of description on my part, well after he's essentially turned my voice into white noise, he'll look at me and tell me I'm a strange person.

An example. This is actually a dream I had a few years ago. And please understand that I couldn't come anywhere near the actual description of the dreams, never could. Too detailed, too...multidimensional. It is also probably important to note that I have never really had anything but nightmares for as long as I can remember, although sometimes, especially lately, they approach something closer perhaps to conversations than evil.

I was outside a house. I went into the house. There were a great number of people. A staircase. The house was oldish, and in a neighborhood vaguely familiar. There was a man, sort of related to the staircase if not exactly on it. He was wearing a brightly-colored pinstriped suit. And he had a cane, perhaps a tophat. He was extremely evil. The various people in and around the place were in some sort of pain, possibly death, that he had caused. I ran from him. Many things happened. At one point I was running behind someone's house. There were woods. The house was white, wood clapboard. There was a rabbit hutch at the edge of the woods. I hid underneath it, believing the woman of the house to be friendly to myself. I was wrong, and she was evil. I started running again. I wound up (again, skipping much here) back at the original house. I ran up the stairs. The evil man was there. He lunged for me, except in a very sort of chipper vaudeville sort of way. Either I had a knife or I took a knife from him, I can't remember which. I stabbed him in the hand, pinning his hand to the wooden floorboards of a well-lit attic sort of place.

That was off-topic, certainly. But bear in mind, that was something I dreamt *years* ago, not a dream that is clear in my memory. And I have not done a very good job of describing it. Anyway. Back to the face thing.

Nobody in my dreams has any face. Even when I dream about people I know in real life, which is not infrequent. It's not that they have some sort of gaping hole where their face should be. More like it's just...not a part of reality. Like...like something you would instinctively ignore. If I try to focus on the faces there, it's just sort of a blurry nothingness. I don't know how to explain it better than that, really. I'm trying to think of a comparison, and not coming up with anything.

And it's not like in life I pay no attention to faces. The opposite actually.

Well. There was this one dream. This was MANY years ago, maybe I was 13? Anyway. I remember much of it, but the striking detail was there was a house. Inside the front door, which was white with a glass partitioned half-moon window at the top of it, was a foyer area. A staircase led up to a second floor. Just between the door and the stairs was what I initially thought was a hall table type of thing, but upon looking more closely discovered was a dog. The dog was pinkish, and where its head ought to have been was a sort of horn, not like a unicorn horn more like a trumpet horn, but not that literally, maybe like a combination of a conch-type shell and a horn-type thing, anyway, cavernous. And in the middle of the cavernous part was a nose. Not a dog nose, a person nose. But not overly-well-defined. Sort of maybe like a nose-kind-of-concept.

Needless to say, those "interpret your dreams" books etc? Never helped me one single bit.

There's more there to say, but I have to go to bed at some point tonight, after all.

But, turtleguy, yes, chicks do visualize. At least I do, and I refuse to believe I'm the only one. Even if there are no faces on my people.

- onehanded